


The Burning North

by Avery_Fontaine



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Non-Linear Narrative, R plus L equals J
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-18
Updated: 2018-03-29
Packaged: 2018-09-09 10:43:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 12,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8887837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Avery_Fontaine/pseuds/Avery_Fontaine
Summary: Jon Snow has been crowned King in the North. Arya has returned to Winterfell after killing the Freys. The wolves of the North now aim to fight the Lion in the South, the Dragon from the East, and the gravest threat Beyond the Wall. And the indecent affection between the King and his sister is sure to prove troubling to the people and a boon to their enemies.This story will be non-linear and chapters will take place at different times to explain how things happened. Please judge me on unanswered questions and if characters are OOC. I'll try to address it.





	1. Chapter 1

**Arya**

 

_The Twins burning, the screams of cowards as Nymeria rips flesh from faces, Walder Frey's neck split open._

 

_All the blood, all the blood, and the screaming._

 

Arya's eyes opened with a jolt. Immediately the beat of her heart slowed when she realized where she was. The bed was soft, she was hidden under the covers, and the body against her provided her with a comforting warmth. She peaked her head up to look at Jon. He held his arm around her as her body laid on top of him, their legs intertwined. 

The winter's morning sun shone through the clouds, and lit the room in a soft radiance that made everything seem truly peaceful. They were both naked, as usual, a consequence of each night's events. 

Jon looked serene in his sleep, though a closer look revealed the darkness around his eyes, a slight worried expression, the countentance of a man bearing the weight of the world. Literally.

He was pretty, despite the roughness and scruffiness about him. She liked his roughness. His hair was the same dark curls, and she could see he still had that same lovable, boyish look. She could see the same boy she left so many years ago. But now he looked older, taller, larger. She felt his torso, now so strong and manly. She liked his scruffy beard and the strong arm which held her against him. Then she felt the scars near his heart.

She heard how his men betrayed him, how he died, the Red Woman... He spoke curtly about it, and Arya didn't like to bring it up.

 

 _How far he's come. King in the North_.

 

She ran her hand down his torso, taking in his form. A slight smile came to her face and she felt a light sensation between her legs as her hand went further down. She brought her hand to his shaft. He was hard. She pressed her breasts to his chest and ran her hand up and down his length as he stirred awake. Jon woke up and looked down at the petite temptress giving him the naughtiest grin. As soon as he did, she stroked him faster, making him close his eyes and release a hard grunt. Arya's smile was full now.

Arya lost her grip and sat up with her legs on each side of his body. Jon opened his eyes and took in her form. He looked infatuated with the young girl on his lap, his eyes filled with desire and love. He grabbed her hips and felt his cock hard against her arse.

Jon was about to say something but Arya quickly silenced him with her lips. It was clear already.

She then grabbed his cock and put it at her entrance. He entered her slowly and Arya let out a sharp moan. He was large for her petite body; it sent sensations all through her body as she began to ride him. 

It was moments like these that took them away from the stresses of their life. Dragons, lions, anybody finding out, the threats all around them, none of that mattered when he was inside her.

Jon grabbed her small breasts, and she felt herself get even wetter as he played with her nipples. Then he sat up and brought his tongue to her breasts.

 

_Oh his tongue._

 

He held her hips as she started to ride him with a newfound fury and desperation.

Jon helped her fuck him faster, his rough hands on her hips. Their breaths were ragged. 

Suddenly Jon turned them around and he went deep inside her. Arya immediately wrapped her legs around him and he started to fuck her hard. She felt his weight on her stomach.  She touched his chest. He was so large on top of her, his masculine form thrusting into her, driving her wild. She was dripping.

Arya's legs were starting to come apart as he continued to drive into her. She felt herself coming undone. 

Jon drove deep inside her and released himself, and she let out a loud moan. 

They stayed there for a few minutes, him on top of her. He then rolled over and they found themselves wrapped around each other again.

 

"I love you," they said together.

 

Despite the smiles on their faces they knew they were continuing to test fate. Any day, someone may find out and use it against them. Accuse them of being no better than Lannisters, no more worthy than Targaryens. And they both knew the true threat was coming. 

They touched each other and felt solace in their current place. They found each other, despite everything that kept them apart and kept trying to.

It was now that they could simply forget about everything else, everything that would find their affection a weakness, everything that would surely use their passion against them.

Arya turned to Jon, looking longingly into his grey eyes, or were they somewhat violet?

 

"My King, would you like to go again?" she said, with smiling eyes.


	2. Chapter 2

 

**Wolkan**

 

_Thank the gods for Jon Snow._

 

His breath visible in the cold air, Maester Wolkan walked toward the cages which held the ravens. He was for the first time happy to perform his duty to his lord. The King had been gracious enough to permit him stay at Winterfell after Ramsay's fall. Wolkan gave a grimace at the memory of Ramsay.

He was mad, cruel, even crueler than his father. Wolkan could only observe and clean up after Ramsay's tortures. His duty as a maester had long been abandoned as the reason he stayed with the Boltons; he was afriad to die. No, that wasn't it. He was afraid to be a target of Ramsay's. Wolkan didn't even feel free to breathe too loudly in Ramsay's presence. He'd seen what happened to anyone who upset, or, gods forbid, disobeyed Ramsay. He had seen all the flayed skin a man could take. 

This Jon Snow was entirely different. A bastard just the same, but Wolkan could hardly spot malice in his eyes. Wolkan's grimace was replaced with an expression of slight joy, a feeling the old man hadn't felt in a long time. When Jon Snow and his wildings captured Winterfell, Wolkan immediately knelt to his new lord and prayed for the lives of the smallfolk. Though half-covered in blood, he walked with a definite valor and determination, a Valyrian steel sword in his hands. The King told him to rise and that the battle was over. Then he asked Wolkan to take him to Ramsay's prisoners.

Wolkan could spot horror in the King's eyes, though it was hidden by an adamance that quickly spurred Wolkan to release them all at his order.

The women Ramsay tortured and those Ramsay deemed rebellious thanked him a thousand times.

Wolkan had never felt more relieved.

 

_I know why some worship him as a god. Even I find myself thinking his actions something divine._

 

That Red Woman has been spreading tales of his glory, that he is the chosen of some R'hllor, and many of the wildings swear he's come back from the dead. They also say the Others have returned, led by a Night's King with a blade made of ice. Wolkan's maester's training prevented him from thinking so irrationally.

 

_ Silly, quite silly. Still, I find myself wondering. _

 

Wolkan went to the ravens, and saw something that made him breathe a heavy sigh: a white raven. Immediately the precariousness of their situation came to his mind: 

 

_War is coming, and winter with it._

 

Wolkan grabbed the animal and lightly pet its head.

 

_Poor creature. Flew all the way here from the Citadel in this cold._


	3. Chapter 3

**Jon**

 

_Stick them with the pointy end._

 

_Arya's grown, fiercer, stronger, infinitely more beautiful._

 

_She's gone well beyond my first lesson with the blade._

 

When Jon left Winterfell it had been at Sansa's request. Secure Moat Cailin, provide the strongest defense from Southron invaders. But now his true reason was too clear. Arya. Rumors that girl with a direwolf had alone taken the Twins. Some believed they were just tales to insult the Freys, but immediately Jon thought of Arya. 

It had been years since he'd seen her, the young girl with dirt on her face and scraped knees, who ran away from her sewing lessons to practice with bows and wooden swords, whose beauty had been all too obvious though entirely different from traditional girls, who peppered him with kisses when he gave her Needle.

He had just secured Moat Cailin when he heard about Walder Frey's demise. The traitor to his brother, who killed Catelyn and his brother's wife, and unborn child, the fucker, was dead. Jon shuddered in disgust at such an act of cowardice. His only regret was that he couldn't drive the blade in his heart himself.

 

"Men say it was a young girl, with a wolf. That she killed the Freys," Ser Davos said. Ser Davos Seaworth had come to him as Hand to King Stannis, the last honest king he could recall. Though not as stoic as Stannis, Davos had a sense of duty, not only to his lord but to goodness, to life. 

 

Since he woke up (Jon shuddered at the memory), Davos had been a great companion and advisor. He fought with him, told him about Melisandre, advised him during the trials of Ramsay's men, and warned him about Littlefinger. Jon would have to keep his wits about him to rid himself of the mockingbird without losing the Vale, or Sansa.

Jon left Sansa at Winterfell with Tormund. 

 

_There must always be a Stark in Winterfell. She is Lady Stark now._

 

If he could have, he would have left Davos with her instead, to have him keep watch of Lord Baelish, keep him away from Sansa, but many lords wouldn't look it kindly to have a wilding travel so far south, and Davos could have men regimented for a long stay at the ruined towers of Moat Cailin in the winter. 

Jon would have preferred that every man and woman be prepared to fight the threat Beyond the Wall, but he knew the world of the living was all too uncooperative. Best to defeat the Lannisters so they could unite men against the Night's King.

Jon entered the half-charred remains of the Twins with a party of twenty good men, and found it oddly calm. The blaze had been restricted to Frey's towers. The smallfolk, at least those brave enough to come outside, while visibly apprehensive, were not devastated. There was no rape or massacre, no sacking of the town, none of the typical things one sees after a battle. 

Ghost strolled next to Jon, so tall that Jon only had to raise to hand to pet his head. Jon looked at his eyes, bloodred, the same. He'd heard Sansa say his own eyes were different. Jon didn't want to think about why.

 

"Your Grace, everyone here agrees that this wasn't done by an army. Wolves, they say. At least as far as they can believe," Ser Davos said, his face stern and solid. 

 

Jon still wasn't comfortable with his new title. The King in the North had been his brother, Robb. Jon wondered why Robb had named his bastard half-brother, a Black brother no less, his heir. It reminded him of his love for Robb, and where he was now only made him angrier. His head wasn't meant for the Winter Crown.

Davos had his hand on the pummel of his sword. He had been ready for a battle, everyone had. Ghost stayed silent.

 

"Follow me, we're going across," Jon said. He didn't see any wolves, or Arya. If she was anywhere, she'd either be missing again or inside the other tower.

 

Jon walked across the bridge which connected the North and the South. On the stone he saw claw marks and dried blood. It looked as if men had been dragged by a large animal. As Ghost walked over the claw marks, Jon could tell his paws were slightly larger than the animal's who made them. Jon entered through the doors with Davos at his side, a few men behind them, the rest sent to bring some order to the town.

There on the main chair sat Arya, hair short and barely down to her ears, covered in sweat and ash, eating a peach. She was wearing breeches. One of her legs was on the spread out on the chair, her arm resting on the other side. She looked older, slightly taller, but was still that skinny thing Jon thought of every day all those years without her. Near her feet laid a direwolf of grey and white. She was more beautiful than he could remember.

 

"Arya," was all he managed to say. 

 

Her eyes turned to him and she dropped the peach in her hand. 

They ran to each other in a sprint and hugged each other tightly, Jon lifting Arya in the air. Davos and his men stood back. This isn't what they expected from the single girl who had taken the Twins.

 

"I found you," Jon said, nearly in tears. Maybe he was in tears, he didn't worry.

"No, I found you," Arya said. She was also coming to tears at seeing her beloved brother after so long.

 

Jon held her and saw the bodies of men, Freys, behind her. His eyes shot up in surprise. All of them had their necks cut except a large one who'd been stabbed multiple times. He was also missing his arms. 

 

"What did you do, little sister?" Jon asked.

 

Arya's head was against his neck.

 

"I killed the fuckers," she said.

 

After their long talk, Davos reminded Jon that their uncle Edmure would have to be made Lord Paramount of the Trident, and swear himself to the North to fight in the coming war. Jon didn't bother to mention that Edmure wasn't _his_ uncle. Arya said she already freed him and he was anxious to see his wife and child. 

However, the Lannisters held Riverrun. Jon agreed to stay in the Riverlands to deliver Edmure back to his home. He would go back Moat Cailin to get more men, and leave Arya with Davos to head North. Arya insisted on staying with him. It reminded Jon of when he was younger and Arya would follow him nearly everywhere he went. That brought a smile to his face. He let her have her way. He always did.

 

_Stick them with the pointy end. She's well passed that lesson._

 

Jon was now at Riverrun; the battle nearly over. The Lannister men gave up quickly when they saw an army of northmen and rivermen, behind a pack hungry-looking wolves. But what must have surprised them most was the small girl who'd cut down so many of them. When Jon saw her, she was drawing Needle from a man's heart, her face was covered in blood, mud all on her clothes, and he saw a smile spread across her lips. 

His men were taken aback by her. Even Davos looked shocked.

 

_So this is what she did to the Freys._

 

Her breasts had grown but they were still small, though it fit her form. Her breeches complimented her petite, curvy body. With Needle fastened loosely around her waist, she looked wild, impossible to tame, a challenge any man would surely take, and _attractive_. There was something beautiful about all the contrasts about her. The bright smile she held while holding a sword, the masculine clothing on her feminine figure.

During the march to Riverrun, Jon had to remind his men to not look at his sister. He'd seen them, eyeing her like she was some kind of figure of wonder and lust, like she was Vinsenya reborn.

They stopped at Oldstones to stay the night. Jon couldn't help but look at her all throughout their meal, her cheeks, her grimace, hearing the way she cursed without concern while Davos tried to maintain some courtesy. He remembered Ygritte; the two were so similar.

Arya stayed close to Jon, keeping him near and asking to hear how he of all people became king and about Sansa. She often rested her head on his shoulder and demanded his quarters be next to hers. He understood why; they were together now and they wouldn't be separated again. He would have asked the same.

When he brought up the subject of where she was, Jon was always concerned. She only gave vague references to "here" and "there" and "very far." 

When Edmure started to talk about the Red Wedding, Arya looked at him with a sullen face.

Later that night she came to Jon's bed and cried that she didn't want him to leave her, she had heard he died and now she couldn't let him go. He held her and looked at her teared-soaked face. She looked so young. He messed her hair and said neither of them were going anywhere. She peppered him with kisses, and for the first time in a long while, Jon laughed. Then one of her kisses touched his lips and they stopped. Jon pulled into a hug and told her he loved her, which she said back, and she walked out the door.

That hadn't stopped them from being so close, touching each other, laughing together. Arya took to sitting on his lap to tease him. In response, he held her in place when she tried to get off. Their slight touches and subtle looks went on for days in tents and around campfires until they got to Riverrun.

 

_What has she been doing? Where has she been? She must've trained with someone._

 

Both of their blades stained with blood, their direwolves finished terrorizing the enemy, they had taken Riverrun. Davos warned Jon that now the Lannisters would strike even more imminently; the winter wouldn't be a terrible disadvantage for an invading army in the Riverlands. At least not yet.

Edmure Tully was made Lord Paramount of the Riverlands, though he was mostly happy to hold his child for the first time.

Informing the new lord of the alliance between the North, Riverlands, and the Vale, if Littlefinger didn't change his plans, Edmure suggested that the alliance be made as it had been in Robert's Rebellion. The Riverlands would be bound to the North by marriage, and now that Arya was here, there was a Stark young enough to eventually marry his son. 

 

"No!" Jon said. "She's my sister and she'll stay in the North."

 

Edmure had until then seen Jon as a mostly quiet and even sullen man; he was grateful to Jon but it was a wonder that such a man be made king. Now he saw why. 

 

_She's mine._

 

Jon had barely realized how that sounded when he thought it. Before Edmure had a chance to say something, Jon spoke.

 

"We've given you your land and title without a single request. You will fight with us or you will fight the Lannisters alone," Jon said.

"Yes, Your Grace, I meant no offense," said the Lord of Riverrun before departing. Davos saw the Jon's outburst. He never raised his voice in such a way.

 

Later that night, Jon came to her room. Mayhaps to tell her about Edmure's proposition? Ask her her thoughts? But when he saw her there before her bed in a white nightgown, short enough that he could see her legs and the curve of her back, he lost his thought. She turned and looked up at him with loving eyes and he kissed her; he felt her surprise, then he felt her hand under his smallclothes, and then he felt her small, soft hand around his very hard cock.

They spent the entire night with their limbs tangled. Her mouth against his and her hands on his chest drove him wild. Her small hips took him so well; she cried out and moaned with every thrust. He looked into her eyes so grey like his own. He thrusted into her with a desperation that conveyed everything he couldn't say. Betrayal, death, blood, fire, ice, lust.

 

_I have you, Arya. You're here. You're mine._

 

_You're mine._

 

He took her multiple times that night; he touched her lithe naked body and had his tongue in her mouth and they laughed when they recovered. She kept her hands on his chest and on his hips. She looked up at him with a knowing smile. The morning sun shone through the room and reminded them of their position. Of what they'd done and now have to deal with. Arya's smile fell from her face.

Shame overtook Jon. What had he done to his sister? What disgusting...

Arya grabbed his face and kissed him. She saw the shame on his face. Then she gave a sad smile.

 

"I love you," she said. Then she paused and looked away, her hands still on his cheeks.

"I love you," Jon said back. "No one can know."

"Aye, No One," Arya chuckled. "Jon, did you know your eyes look different?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Are my time jumps to confusing? Should I put notes before each chapter?


	4. Chapter 4

  **Wynafryd**

 

_The King beds his sister._

_There are rumors he feeds people to his direwolf, denies the Old Gods of the Forest, beds his youngest sister, and didn't even win the Battle of the Bastards by his own skill._

_But I am only certain of one: the King beds his sister._

 

Wynafryd's grandfather, Wyman Manderly, brought her and her sister Wylla to Winterfell to treat with the King in the North. No doubt to pose a marriage between a daughter of a great Northern house and the new king. The last male Stark, even a bastard-born like Jon Snow, ought have have sons during times of war.

Wyman was quick to dismiss every rumor surrounding the King. "I've seen him, Wynafryd. I see Ned Stark in him more than any man. These are japes made by liars and fools," he said. 

Mayhaps Wynafryd could accept that if the King didn't have wildings at his command, if the rumors weren't also that he promised them lands in return for freeing him from the Night's Watch and giving him the North. None could deny that he abandoned his post. How can such a man be one of honor?

Tales of the first Night's King came to mind. How he turned the Watch into a kingdom and bedded a demon. The questions were too much for Wynafryd; her grandfather was clever enough that he'd have to be right. Nevertheless, she would see for herself.

When she reached the court of the King she was surprised to find he was exactly as her grandfather described. Tall and strong, wearing all black and furs, sad eyes. The way he commanded his men was so reserved. How little he showed himself with any kind of pomp; he didn't even wear a crown.

"I am happy to receive you, My Lord," said the King to Wyman.

"I am happy to be received," said Lord Wyman. Mayhaps he thought to kneel, but his large gut immediately told him otherwise. "These are my granddaughters, Wynafryd, and the green-haired one is Wylla."

The King looked at them and only nodded in affirmation. He then gave them bid to retire so he so he could speak with Wyman and the Onion Knight. He didn't seem comfortable talking while sitting on the Winter Throne. 

When night came her grandfather told her the King didn't want to hear of marriage proposals and only wanted to speak of war and the Others he claimed had risen. A cautious man who didn't disregard the word of thousands of wildings and men of the Watch, Wyman believed him. 

There was a part of Wynafryd that was somewhat insulted; was she not good enough for the King? Her brown hair and subtle features attracted her share of men. Surely her sister Wylla would spark interest at least. In other men, she always had.

As King he would also have marry his sisters to other high lords, but he wouldn't hear of it. "Sansa's had enough husbands for now," the King explained. He didn't mention Arya.

Wynafryd thought mayhaps there was a reason he hadn't. When she saw Arya on the training grounds, she could not have looked less feminine. Holding a sword and wearing men's armor, she first thought Arya was a wildling. But when she removed her helmet Wynafryd was sure Arya would not have trouble finding a husband; he would only find trouble trying to control her. She was so unlike her own quiet nature.

 

"Your Grace," Wynafryd curtsied to the princess.

"No, no, stop that. I hate curtsies. If I myself won't do them, you shouldn't either," Princess Arya said.

"Yes, Your Grace," Wynafryd responded.

"And stop calling me 'Your Grace'," she said.

 

Wynafryd learned a great deal from Arya. About fighting, about the Riverlands, King's Landing, and Tywin Lannister of all people. Wynafryd told her about house Manderly and the meaning of the mermaid in their sigil, and the princess seemed quite engaged.

 

_No, she'd have no problem finding a husband. And she's a princess as well._

 

"Do you know who the King would have you married to?" Wynafryd asked, trying to change the subject.

"I don't see myself ever getting married," answered the princess.

"Well you'd have to most likely. Unless the King's to keep you in a tower like Baelor," Wynafryd said. That made them both laugh.

"I'd cut his throat before I'd let him try," Arya responded in jest. "You would have to marry, wouldn't you? I heard you were betrothed to a Frey," she said with disgust.

"Not anymore, thank the gods. I was actually here to see if I could court another man," Wynafryd said.

"Who?" Arya asked.

"Your brother," Wynafryd answered.

 

Arya's expression died and she looked away. Wynafryd stayed silent a moment and held her long braided hair in her hands.

"They say he's not legitimate. A sworn brother of the Night's Watch gone rogue. Add that to the fact he's the last male Stark. Northen lords would prefer he had sons quickly. For security," Wynafryd explained rather quietly.

 

Arya turned to her with a look she could not understand and it made her somewhat uneasy.

Later that night, while asleep, Wynafryd opened her eyes to see a knife at them. She barely had the thought to look at her assassin. A girl, tall, of curly black hair and green eyes. She had never seen her before.

 

"You will stay away from the king or I'll kill you," she said. She had an accent she couldn't place. "Whether it's you or your sister." Then she put the blade at Wynafryd's neck.

Wynafryd closed her eyes and the moment she did the pressure at her neck fell. She opened her eyes and saw no one around.

When morning came she was walking with Wylla and her handmaiden. She told them all of the assassin from last night, to the confusion of each of them. Why would anyone place such a request at knife-point? She saw that knights were all around guarding the castle. Finding a moment of courage, she ran to tell the King what happened to her, how she'd been threatened. She ran to the door only to hear screaming from inside. Screaming and moaning. It was Arya. 

Wynafryd ran back and watched the door. Moments later she saw Arya walk out of the door wearing a disheveled gown. The King was behind her. She stood on her toes and kissed him. Immediately she turned her head as if she had been spooked and looked right at Wynafryd.


	5. Chapter 5

 

**Arya**

 

_This is his fault. Entirely his._

 

Arya had her hand between her legs, rubbing with a frustration at her situation. Jon had gotten her so used to this feeling and now he's gone off to meet with the Dragon Queen. Now she'd have to do this on her own.

She couldn't seem to get anywhere. Sansa was on her mind. After she arrived at Winterfell, Sansa couldn't be happier. Now she was simply unsatisfied with everything. Arya supposed she hadn't grown out of that.

Tormund seemed to like her though. Giantsbane; what a name to have, these wildings. Brienne was whom she was most happy to know. Mayhaps she could teach her the longsword.

 

_He better not touch her._

 

Arya thought of Daenerys Targaryen. They say she's beautiful, silver-haired with dazzling eyes. And three dragons at her command. A fine fit for any king of the North. Jon's task was simply to procure dragonglass and find help to kill the wights, but the Dragon Queen would surely demand he kneel, if not to surrender the North than to lick her cunt and call her his wife.

Arya was ever more frustrated. Her bed was so much colder without Jon's body in it. 

She thought about how he commanded his court before he left. All the strength and competence of any true king. How his strong arms flexed as he trained with Longclaw. She started rubbing the top of her cunt. 

Jon, her silly-haired king who'd saved the North. He exuded valor and honor. He conquered not only the North but also her. She remembered his body above hers, his rough touching her and she imagined they were those hands that were touching her now.

She hooked her finger and imagined Jon's cock driving into her. So large and hard and all for her. 

With her other hand, she grabbed her breast and touched her nipple. Her breath was heavy. She thought of the desperation she felt in him when he was close. How he thrusted faster and faster and grunted in her ear.

Arya released a loud moan and fell back into the bed. The fingers were soaked, and so was she. Her legs were still shaking and she hadn't caught her breath. After a few moments she made a loud huff. 

 

_I swore I'd never wear a crown, take a name, or love someone._

 

_We're so much alike, Jon..._

 

_If she touches him, I'll kill her too._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time jumps confusing yet?


	6. Chapter 6

**Sansa**

 

 

As light snows fell to the ground, the lightest breeze swept across the godswood and past the Lady of Winterfell. In the dim light it was hard to tell the hour.

 

_So this is winter._

 

Sansa remembered the harsh winds and cold outside Winterfell's walls, so unrelenting and cruel. But here, even as snow pattered on her bright red hair, everything seemed peaceful. Sansa looked up to the tree in front of her, its face staring back with a scary, sad expression. It was the first time she remembered seeing a weirwood tree since she left for King's Landing.

She never particularly liked the weirdwoods. It was where her Northern ancestors prayed, but their faces were unpleasant, ugly; so many Northern traditions were. She once preferred the gods of her mother, the gods of the South. 

As a girl, she dreamed of everything of the South, so shiny, sunny, full of bright-haired people like her, flower knights and gallant, well-mannered lords and ladies, but it was a lie, a silly dream of a silly, stupid girl. 

Since her father's death, the South had only been one continuing hell for her. The unpleasant faces of the weirdwood trees didn't seem so bad anymore.

 

_What is she doing? How could they..._

 

Sansa's mind drifted to her sister, her confession and her testimony. Arya's words had been sincere, Sansa knew. After years of spotting liars and lechers, adulterors and schemers, Sansa found only honesty in Arya's fantastic tale. 

At first she only wanted to hug Arya, cry and say how good it was to have her near, how she'd finally freed herself, how she and Jon... Jon. Sansa grimaced at the thought.

It was early when Arya arrived at Winterfell, and her arrival was met with astonishment and disbelief. No one expected her to be alive, let alone to show up among Jon's men. But it was no imposter, no lie; she was here. 

Brienne once told Sansa that she'd seen Arya with the Hound, but she disappeared as quickly as she was found. In the winter, any effort to find her would surely be lost.

The first thing Sansa did when she saw her was pause. She was older, hardly any taller, but with her short, messy hair, her taut, petite frame showing strength and a confident posture, she was far from the childish, unruly girl she remembered. Her eyes were so much like Jon's.

Immediately Sansa ran to Arya and wrapped her in a hug. Sansa had tears in her eyes, and so did Arya. They didn't let go for what felt like eternity. 

 

"Where have you been, Arya?" Sansa asked later that day.

"My tale's far too long. You go first," Arya responded, her short hair nearly at her eyes. 

 

They were in Sansa's chambers, out of the cold, and the room was lit by candles. Sansa proceeded to tell Arya all she had gone through. About her many tortures and marriages, about Petyr and Margaery, about Joffrey's death, which made Arya particularly happy, about Lysa and Ramsay. Sansa had nearly come to tears before she could finish. Arya looked only angry, angry at everything she had to experience and tolerate. Seeing Sansa look away with a sad expression, Arya grabbed her and pulled her in a hug.

 

"We'll kill them. We'll kill the lot of them," she said. There was vemon in her words.

 

_Wolves, they call them. The White Wolf and the She-wolf of Winterfell._

 

After hearing about Arya's actions at the Twins, and then at Riverrun, the smallfolk took to calling her the she-wolf, the avenger of the Red Wedding and the sword by the King's side. She never did want to be a lady.

Arya's return was met with relief and joy; it was a resurge of the Starks of Winterfell. With her dark hair and grey eyes, she looked more Stark than Sansa. Having a fierceness and lack of typical propriety, she acted like one too. 

While it slightly hurt her to think of herself as the other Stark, more than anything, Sansa was happy to know Arya was alive and safe. But Jon, he seemed more joyful than she'd ever seen him. 

They were in the training yard, yelling and giving instructions to boys who'd soon have to be soldiers in the wars to come. Despite the direness of prospect, Arya and Jon looked happy. Arya wore breeches, naturally. She was sitting on a wooden fence in which the men trained, and Jon stood by her, leaning against the fence, shouting that a certain boy improve his footwork. 

 

"Keep your feet apart. And don't just stand there," Jon shouted.

"You are the sword. Keep that in your mind!" Arya yelled. Jon chuckled at her added guidance, and soon they were laughing together.

 

_They were always close._

 

Petyr left for the Vale as soon as Arya arrived. Sansa was grateful for that. He left with the knights of the Vale and gave their support for the Northern cause. Surely he already planned machinations, hidden behind that enigmatic smile and green eyes.

Sansa and Arya were eating in Winterfell's halls, and Arya was continuing her tale. It became more and more fantastic, but Arya had been one for adventure.

 

"And then where did you go?" Sansa asked Arya after they'd eaten that night. 

"Eventually we ran into the Brotherhood without Banners," Arya answered, holding a pint in her hand.

 

Sansa wanted to laugh. She once chastised Arya for her wildness, her love to disrupt things. But it served her better than Sansa's own attitude. It took her far longer to find courage.

Jon appeared behind them with the wilding Tormund nearby. They had gone to the Gift to survey new lands where the wildings might settle. Many Northern lords raised concerns over ever letting wildings south of the Wall, but Jon put down any dissent against that issue quite quickly. It was the only time he raised his voice.

Jon wore black, with furs around his neck and Longclaw hidden underneath his cloak. He hadn't taken to wearing the Winter Crown; in most aspects he refused to set himself apart as King in the North. Sansa reminded him that he would have to wear those regalia, damn his humility.

She was never close to her bastard brother. In truth she wasn't terribly glad he was named king, as he was Robb's only heir because she was forcibly married to the Imp. But she was happy that he was here now and she was with him. She loved him all the more that he helped her win back their home and wished only forgiveness for how little regard she held for him before. 

Sansa thought she would never see her family again. Arya and Jon gave her a part of her that was lost. Sansa forced herself not to get lost in hope. The Lannisters had only the cruelest plans for them all, and the mockingbird would strike when least expected.

Sansa was eating bread and looked over to Arya. She was cursing and laughing with Jon, Tormund and the other wildings.

 

_Mother said she was part wilding._

 

Jon messed her hair and ran his hand down her back. Sansa noticed Arya's breath stop and her cheeks become red. Jon quickly removed his hand. No one around paid any mind to what happened.

At the end of the night, Jon left and Arya followed immediately after.

Many days had gone by and Sansa noticed the odd closeness the two shared, an affection more towards each other than any one else, even than that between Arya and herself.

 

_They are simply very close. They always have been._

 

Sansa was sewing in the same room where Septa Mordane once taught her and Arya. It gave her an odd satisfaction to do something so menial. Arya was sitting near her, making jests at her continuing her "lady-like ways." 

 

"You should use some more courtesies. You are a princess now, Your Grace," Sansa responded in kind.

"Stop calling me that! I've never been a lady," Arya said with frustration.

"Certainly not," Sansa said "but you're expected to play a role if you want others to fear you less."

"Why would I want that? I am the she-wolf," Arya said. It was the first time Arya embraced the name. She seemed rather apathetic about it before; she was likely trying to simply win the argument.

"If our enemies know you as you are, and not as you project yourself, you only make it easier for them," Sansa said. Arya raised her eyebrow at that. 

"Mayhaps you'd tell Jon that," Arya responded. "The man shows no eye toward stealth, or cunning. He'd ride off valiantly to take on every threat if he hadn't the slightest forethought," Arya huffed.

 

Sansa put down her needle. 

 

"How is he?" she asked, looking in Arya's eyes, giving an unreadable expression. Arya seemed unfazed.

"The same. He asked Brienne to join his kingsguard but she said she only served you," Arya said in a light, airy tone of voice.

"But how _is_ he?" Sansa repeated. She was leaning forward now. 

"Hm, he's sad. He knows that many of the men he's trained are to die. Today I saw him go to the crypts to see father's tomb," Arya said. They found Ned Stark's bones near Moat Cailin. At last the Quiet Wolf came home. No one found Robb's body.

Before Sansa could pose another question, Arya asked her own.

 

"What happened to Ramsay Snow?" she asked.

 

A part of Sansa thought to pause, but she immediately answered.

 

"I fed him alive to his dogs," she said. "I watched him scream as the flesh was ripped from his face and his tongue was bitten off."

"Good," Arya said, with a grimace. "Though I'd have gone farther."

"I'm sure you could," Sansa said.

 

Brienne entered and asked to speak to Sansa. Arya left and gave her a smile. She really liked Brienne. Kindred spirits, mayhaps.

Jon and Arya continued to... do whatever it is they were doing. Jon was typically a serious man, quiet and humble like his direwolf, despite their strength, which was such that it would usually make one boastful. (The attitude of bastards. Well, one of them at least.) But with Arya near, Jon was entirely different. He was jovial and happy as if the last few years never happened. 

Nymeria mimicked Arya and Jon, and often spent time playing with Ghost. They liked going outside of Winterfell's walls and running to gods know where in the blasted cold.

 

_Nymeria. Somehow._

 

Sansa remembered Lady, her direwolf, which was so much like herself. Lady was taken too, with everything else.

 

_I am less a Stark in that way too._

 

"You're far more of North than me, you and Jon. You're both fighters, direwolves at your sides," Sansa said one morning near the Winter Throne. "You're more suited to be the Lady of Winterfell."

"Bastards have been made kings, and upstarts find themselves as Wardens of the East. The old rules are meaningless, and I'd rather not be Lady Stark, or princess," Arya said when Sansa prompted her on the subject. Arya was right. She was right for so long.

Even after Sansa's many marriages, Sansa was still a Stark. She was still a wolf.

"What do you think they should call me then? 'She-wolf' is taken. Something with my red hair? Or I should get a pup?" Sansa jested. Arya laughed, and all felt peaceful.

 

Sansa's concerns over Arya's affection for Jon dampened for a while. Until she entered Arya's room during midday. There near the bed was a small cup smelling of tansy and mint. Sansa knew it well from her time in Petyr's brothel.

She went to see Arya, and found her in one of Winterfell's halls. 

 

"Whom do you bed?" she asked.

 

Arya's eyes fell, but immediately turned up, and they gave nothing. 

 

"No one," Arya lied, though her gait showed complete sincerity. "Not that I haven't had to stab some fools who've tried."

"Then why do you drink moon tea?" Sansa asked, intent on getting an answer. Her time with Petyr and at King's Landing taught Sansa how to spot the faintest indications of lying.

"Sister, I know what you're doing," Arya said, her voice flat. "But you won't be able to read anything on my face." She huffed. "What truth do you want to know?"

 

That's when Arya told her everything, everything she wanted to know and more. About Jon, witnessing the Red Wedding, warging into Nymeria and pulling their mother's body out of the river, the Faceless Men. She went on and on, as if to explain why she and Jon became intimate. To justify it. It was all a blur of people, killing, and names she wouldn't remember, and Sansa's mind kept going to the image of Arya and Jon with their mouths connected and hands around each other.

 

"He is our brother; half-brother, I know but," Sansa was cut off.

"We were lost, Sansa. So far apart, with the faintest hope that the other was still alive," Arya said. Sansa realized it was dark outside. "And he died." Arya paused. There were tears in her eyes, but Arya quickly wiped then off, then looked away. "We're wolves."

 

Sansa was about to speak but stopped. 

 

_Wolves._

 

_The pack survives._

 

Mayhaps in the dead of winter, the world against them, after so long apart, wanting only to see each other, their relationship made sense.

Sansa looked back at the weirdwood's face in front of her.

 

_Not even the Old Gods would approve of it._

 

Sansa remembered her past marriages, the men before her. Joffrey, the Hound, Petyr, Ramsay. Knights and princes had only ever hurt her. Only the most unorthodox one, Tyrion, was kind to her. 

 

_The Old Gods never helped before. So what if they were unhappy._

 

Jon and Arya, truly, showed the only love Sansa could remember since her parents. She hardly liked that they were together, but she could yet accept it. Seeing Arya happy after everything she'd gone through, seeing anything that could produce something sweet, meant that Sansa could accept it. Even if it was bittersweet.

 

_How foolish it is to find love in such a time._


	7. Chapter 7

  **Jon**

 

A blizzard hit Winterfell. The King declared that everyone brace their doors and wait it out. Ser Davos asked to use the time to plan their tactics; the lion would strike as soon as they were able. Sansa agreed. But Jon wanted use the opportunity so he and Arya could spend the time together.

 

_They'll get somewhere on their own for now._

 

"Stop it, ugh, stop it," Arya cried. "You're going to leave a mark."

 

Jon was biting her neck. She was pinned against the headboard, dressed in a tight gown which Jon had every intention of taking off. He was loving the sounds she was making, her hands grasping his hair. It was fun to see her so flustered. He liked knowing he could make her like this.

 

"Good, then everyone will know you're mine," Jon said.

"Be serious," Arya responded. She was looking dead at him, her chest out, breathing hard.

"I am," Jon said, and he captured her lips with a kiss. 

 

It occurred to both of them, the thought of surviving the war and the Long Night, living in peace together in a world where they could be accepted. They rarely had chance to indulge that fantasy. 

 

"You're such a green boy sometimes, Jon Snow," Arya said, looking at him with a smirk, but with eyes that showed only love.

 

Jon liked that he still called her that. Some had taken to calling him Stark, or Your Grace, but he was only ever Snow, or Lord Commander. Jon admired the woman under him; her short dark hair and petite frame made her look younger than she was. She was beautiful to him in every way.

Jon grabbed her left breast in his hands. Arya sighed and rolled her head back again. He hadn't ever considered he would have a woman when he joined the Watch, but Ygritte was sure to change that, and she taught him much.

 

"I love you," Arya told him.

"I love you too," Jon said. "Let me show you how much."

 

Arya closed her eyes and tilted her head back. She already knew what he had in mind. He loved doing this to her. Jon descended down her body, taking care to touch her slowly, down her arms and chest, and all the way down her legs. She wasn't wearing smallclothes underneath her gown. She opened her legs and Jon began kissing her thighs. Then he started kissing and licking up her thighs, and she sighed even louder and opened her legs even farther. 

When his tongue reached her cunt, Arya made a girlish squeal. Jon laughed against her thighs. 

He began lapping at her folds, paying particular attention to one part at the top. She was thrashing now. She grabbed his black curls and buried him even further, and she was biting her bottom lip. 

 

"Fuck!" she cried out, louder than she should have. 

 

Jon was licking faster, making her tremble and her legs shake. She was close, so close.

Suddenly Jon stuck his tongue deep inside her, and started licking her out.

Arya wrapped her legs around his head and screamed out loud. Jon lapped up after every one of her convulsions. 

When she finished, her breath was still heavy. Jon quickly ascended and held her face in his hands and kissed her.

Here they could be safe. Here they could be happy, happy and together. Jon would have no intention of leaving the bed.

When the blizzard lifted, they resumed their normal roles. Jon sat on the Winter Throne hearing of what news the lifted storm brought. Ser Davos said that a raven finally came. He had a letter in his hands, a letter bearing a purple-wax sigil Jon never thought he would see.

 

 _A Three-headed Dragon_.


	8. Chapter 8

 

 

Arya

 

_The sound of Father's head falling to the ground, Sansa screaming, Beric Dondarrian rising from the dead, Grey Wind's head on Robb's body, Mother's body floating in the river, the Many-Faced God, death._

 

Arya woke up in her usual position, her head against Jon's neck, his arms around her, her short hair splayed out on his chest. 

Neither of them knew a truly good night's sleep, but waking up together provided a sweet comfort against the terror that overcame their dreams. Arya looked to Jon. He was more hairy, obviously a convenience of winter, but it certainly made him seem even more a true Northman. Small wonder why he'd be declared King, even as a bastard. He looked like what one would imagine the King in the North. Except his eyes; the violet in his dark eyes shone so lightly they would scarce be seen without a close look, and Arya had her share. Arya surmised that it was the Red Woman's magic; how Arya wished she could have killed her before Jon banished her to the South. Beric Dondarrion said that he lost something every time he came back. What has Jon lost? 

His closed eyes moved frantically in his sleep. Like her, Jon could find a single refuge in a difficult sleep. She was teaching him how to properly warg, and find some control in his wolf dreams. Jon had stopped once when he felt Ghost's desire to mount Nymeria, but he'd since gotten better at control.

Arya took time to feel Jon's strong chest and stomach; when she left him he'd been a boy but now he was a man in all ways except his idea of valor. His stupid penchant for heroism.

She never thought she'd be the type to find comfort in a lover's arms. In her childhood she thought only about going on adventures, but the universe had seemed to mock her by giving her only strife. 

Waking up with Jon by her was something unique, that made the world disappear and allowed her to fall deeper in that ethereal cloud which gave only joy and love.

Jon was opposed to them sleeping in the same bed, saying something about it being improper and dangerous. Arya simply told him that was was being foolish; Winterfell wasn't King's Landing, with everyone spying on everyone else. However, Arya knew he wasn't especially worried about how it would look.

In their ride up from Riverrun, Jon resisted his desires, so much that he said she had to tempt him enough to make him lose all propriety. Arya couldn't help but look amused; she hadn't really done anything. Jon was possessed of the idea that her simply being there, looking and acting as she does was enough to make him take her in the stables near the Twins. 

A smile crossed her face and she sought to make him truly lose himself. She reached her hands down his strong chest until she felt his cock. As soon as she did she felt his hand move from her back and grab her arse. She looked up and saw that he was still asleep. He was hard and big, bigger than he usually was in their mornings. Combined with his instant reaction to grab her arse, his searching eyes, and the near uncomfortable look on her face, Arya knew what was going on. Her sly smile got even wider.

 

_So this is what he's dreaming._

 

Arya descended slowly under the covers, kissing down his abdomen until she got to his cock. She licked the underside of the head and heard him gasp. It didn't matter if he was awake; she'd continue just the same. 

Taking care to slowly stroke him, she began to suck him lightly, getting deeper every time. She would never get all the way down; he barely fit in her cunt in the first place. But she continuing licking him until she heard him grunt loudly. 

He was awake now. His breath was heavy, likely unprepared to continue his dream into the day. He reached his hands under the covers and grabbed her hair. 

Arya continued her long strides up and down his cock, each harder and faster. She felt him lightly thrust into her mouth, doing his best to control himself.

Suddenly she felt him twitch in her mouth and he pushed her head down as far as possible. He let out a loud grunt and came inside her mouth. Arya stayed as still as possible and let him finish. After a few moments, Jon released his grip and fell his arms against the bed. Arya rose and showed him her swallowing. 

If Jon's eyes could fly out of his face they would have. He lifted her body and put her against him so he could put his head against her neck.

 

"The things you do to me, woman," Jon said in a ragged voice.

 

After they bathed and they broke their fast, Jon left Arya to speak with Ser Davos. She liked the Onion Knight. From what she heard she thought he'd be less solemn and serious, yet he was a man of justice and humility. He wasn't well spoken, but he was always adament about what needed to be done and wouldn't let Jon ride off on any foolhardy journey. For that, she liked him more.

Arya went to go speak with Brienne. She wanted to know how to fight with a longsword. Naturally she went to where Brienne would most likely be. 

Arya came to Sansa's quarters to find Brienne. She entered the room to find Sansa writing several letters on her desk. As Lady of Winterfell she had the privilege, or really, the responsibility, of maintaining relations with the South, Essos and Skagos while the North was in open rebellion. 

 

"Hello. Come, come, sit," Sansa said, trying to maintain focus on writing.

"I'm here to see Brienne. Where is she?" Arya asked. 

"She's out for the moment. Was is it? You can ask Pod if you need to relay a message," Sansa said.

 

Podrick Payne. When Arya learned of his house she only remembered her list, on which was the name of the man who held that sword. Still, he seemed a decent lad.

 

"It's fine," Arya answered. "I can wait for her."

"What did you need?" Sansa asked, then she thought for a few seconds. "Is it the longsword?"

"I want to learn, truly," said Arya.

 

Sansa had since given up on turning Arya into a lady. She also given up "protecting" her from herself, especially after the Blaze at the Twins.

 

"You can when she gets back," Sansa answered.

"Where did she go?" Arya asked.

"South, to confirm some rumors," Sansa said. "The southernors are up in arms about their Mad Queen. It's thought that every kingdom will rise against the West, and it is my job to help this happen."

"I'd only ask to split Cersei's neck myself," Arya said, getting angry at the reminder of Cersei's new title. "What new allies can we gain?"

"There's an anointed knight, Ser Bronn of the Blackwater, with access to the Red Keep, and an inclination not to be around for a new explosion at King's Landing," Sansa said. "Dorne is already in open rebellion, also the Stormlands under some unknown prince, though some say it's a Targaryen. My goal is to bring Highgarden to our side. The Queen of Thorns isn't pleased to know her grandson died by wildfire, and I know Margaery personally. She was lucky to have escaped. Willas, however, is calculating, and as the new Warden of the South, he likely wouldn't risk his house without something in return."

"Look at you, sister," Arya said playfully. "You're so political and shrewd."

 

Sansa finally smiled at that.

 

"We're ripe for war, but we fortunately have the advantage, if we can manage it," she said.

"And if the Others don't attack first," Arya added.

 

Sansa was still a moment. Arya wasn't sure if Sansa took the ravings of wildings and anything beyond the Wall as seriously as Jon.

 

"Yes, if the Others don't take us. Or the Shadow Men of Asshai. Mayhaps we'll let Cersei face them first. Leave a few wights at the Red Keep," Sansa added, with a tired smile. Arya allowed herself to laugh.

"What might Willas want?" Arya asked. Sansa went silent again.

"You know I don't disparage your relationship with Jon," Sansa said.

"Out with it," Arya said back. She had enough of that.

"Lady Margaery rides North as we speak, to unite the kingdoms," Sansa said.

"I'm not happy with this. Who's responsible for this?" Arya said accusingly.

"Not I. Willas makes a bold choice. My thoughts is that it was Petyr. He would have a hand in anything to create discontent," Sansa answered.

 

True, Baelish was a snake among sheep. One could hardly know what to expect from him, yet it sounded unlikely.

 

"Fuck that!" Arya yelled. "Fuck the bastards who seek to take away my family again."

"I know Jon won't approve of it. Yet the drama will still be played," Sansa said. "And you must do something to end these rumors. You must know this is something the North and it's traditions can not allow. They'd sooner find a new king than have one unsuited or who had the wrong gods."

 

Arya was seething. She made herself have the patience to listen to Sansa's next words.

 

"You should tell him. Hear him say no, and advise him to be calm," Sansa said.

 

When Arya arrived at the Winter Throne, Jon looked more uncertain than ever. When he saw her, his face lit up.

 

"Arya, come here," he said with his arms open.

 

She came and gave him a subtle hug.

 

"I have to go to Dragonstone," he said. "Daenerys Targeryen, the Dragon Queen, wishes to parlay."

 

Arya was confused.

 

"Why? Why would you go?" she asked.

"She has dragons," Jon answered simply. "And all the dragonglass in the world. We may yet live if we procure enough."

 

Arya forgot about her message.

 

"What the fuck does she want with you? I ought to go to her and give her the gift for peeking out of her hole in Essos," Arya said.

 

Jon actually laughed.

 

"I received word from Lord Tyrion as well. He assures me all will me peaceful, if I watch my mouth," Jon said. "She's the Breaker of Chains, not Cersei."

"And the dragons have never conquered the North. They never even set foot on its soil," Arya said back.

"I won't let you come with me," Jon said.

 

Arya was unhappy hearing that.

 

"The last time the wolves got involved with dragons they murdered our uncle and grandfather. I would be the sword by your side. Not even dragons could detect my blade in the night," Arya affirmed.

"Aye, that's true. That's why I need you here with Sansa. The Starks must keep their power in Winterfell, and it lies with you both," Jon explained. "I'll be with Ser Davos; he knows the place well enough."

 

It took a night of yelling, complaining, and endless sarcasm from Arya until she accepted his leaving. It would be brief, he said, as if the silvered-haired queen wouldn't try to court him or make him give his submission.

 

_As if The Targaryens have never been known to enjoy conquering others._

 

Arya thought about Lady Margaery's arrival. She needn't tell Jon. She would handle it herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry. The Dany/Sansa/Tyrion/Arya interaction is coming. Sorry for all the teasing!


	9. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, don't hate me. This is chapter 10. Chapter 9 is currently going through rewrites so I could capture Tyrion and Dany's perspectives correctly. I just couldn't leave this in my saved files forever. Rest assured a long Arya/Tyrion interaction is going to be Chapter 11.

**Bran**

 

_A pale young man with a red blotch on his face kisses a beautiful blonde woman wearing a golden dress. She smiles at him, revealing one green eye._

 

_Jon Snow, a scar across his face, wearing dragon-plated armor, carries a white, flaming sword. The night is black, yet the sword glows in defiance. Around him thousands of men charge into a darkness of the night. The ground is covered in snow, and a dragon's roar is heard._

 

_A tall knight carries a two children through a burning hold. His expression is desperate, and he is crying, but he manages to bring get them out of the hold. He runs back in, and there is the sound of a crash. What looks to be a great hall has fallen._

 

_In a room lit in red light, an older-looking, short-haired Arya holds the face of a man in her hands. She smiles, leans down and kisses him._

 

_A white comet crosses the sky. A young man with dark hair and purple eyes follows it to an island._

 

_There is a young golden-haired girl crying in the forest._

 

_The Wall shatters and falls, unleashing-_

 

_A woman covered in blood, holding a flaming, white sword, yells "Nyssa, Nyssa!"_

 

_An olive-skinned servant girl walks towards a Dornishman. She pours him wine and departs. Out of sight, she removes her face._

 

_A man not twenty-and-six with silver hair and purple eyes carries a Lyanna Stark through a garden with blue flowers. There are smiles on both of their faces._

_"Rhaegar, should we not inform our parents of this defiance?" Lyanna says. "Have it settled and be done with it."_

_"Brandon will know soon," he responds. "Besides, we have yet to complete the ceremony," he says with a smirk._

 

_An Ice Dragon._

 

Bran released his hold on the weirwood tree. He breathed deeply and tried to calm himself after what he had just seen in his vision. Meera came to him and gave him a horn filled with boiled river water, a worried look on her face. She was trying to keep up Bran's spirit, knowing his visions showed more blood and confusion than most men could ever take.

Calming his mind, Bran drank from the horn and looked to Meera leaning over him. Her soft green eyes and unkempt brown hair gave her a wild beauty he was fond of. He felt the same longing in his heart for her that he had since before they journeyed past the wall. The reminder of his dullness of his legs hurt most at these moments.

They were near the Gift, on their way to a wildling holdfast recently set up by Jon Snow.

 

_Lyanna. Jon has to know._

 

"Where do we go now?" Meera asked him. This had been the question that propelled him to search the weirwood for answers. She didn't like it, seeing him lost for hours while she had to keep them fed and protected, but she could not deny that this was a subject that needed an answer. 

"We have to get a message to Oldtown. And you have to see your father," Bran answered.

 

Meera shook. She hadn't seen her father in ages. He likely believed her and Jojen dead. Meera frowned at the memory of her brother, and the thought of her father grieving.

"Shouldn't we go and see your brother and sisters?" she asked. They recently found out that his kin had taken back Winterfell.

"No, it has to be this way," Bran answered. 

Meera accepted this with a huff.

 

When night came they lit a fire and curled up near eachother for warmth. Meera kept it platonic yet she felt the need to keep the mood somewhat jovial. 

"Did you see anything... interesting?" Meera asked, knowing that not all of Bran's visions were so bleak.

 

Bran looked up, having gotten lost in the feeling of her against him. He remembered something odd from the day; not odd as in the extranormal odd he was used to when he acted as a greenseer, but just... weird. He remembered Arya and who he was certain was a cousin of his acting quite inappropriately in a dimly lit room.

"Yes, something I never wish to see again."


	10. Chapter 10

 

**Tyrion**

* _Dragonstone is far to cold for my tastes.*_

 

Tyrion Lannister was currently inside the castle at Dragonstone. It was early morning when he woke; light mist covered the island.  A golden glass of wine in his hand, Tyrion looked out to the narrow sea beyond the small island. He tried to see King's Landing in the distance, but he saw only the sea. Still, he knew that the city was nearly in reach. Stannis had proved that.

 

 **Danaerys**  

"The Northerners have arrived!" the man at the gate shouted. He and the rest of the smallfolk at Dragonstone quickly submitted to her reign. If not for her name, then for the armada at her command.

Daenerys Targaryen, the true Queen of Westeros and the Bay of Dragon's, walked to the port of Dragonstone. Her silver hair was in tight braids, and her violet eyes showed only fierceness. She would not be seen as weak. Her black and silver garb, and thousands of soldiers, would see to that.

She had learned all she could of this Jon Snow. Another pretender king, son of the man who helped kill her father. Part of her almost felt impressed at his rise.

* _It seems the world is finally finding a place for bastards and women._ *

Nevertheless, his reign would end, as would the rest of the pretenders'. 

As walked by her Hand, she remembered him saying he knew Lord Snow, years ago. Tyrion requested to speak first, given their brief past, and Daenerys accepted. But they both knew what end would come. Jon Snow would submit. Missandei joined her at her side, as did Grey Worm, with a squad of Unsullied.

The small boat which carried the northern king arrived on the beach, and he got off. It was clear who among them was the king. Their, in black furs, sporting a small scar, was Jon Snow. He was pretty, despite the stereotype of the northern brute. Strangely, he appeared more uneasy than intimating. 

* _Good_.*

Lord Tyrion spoke first. "King Snow," he began.

"Lord Tyrion," Jon muttered. The bearded man next to Jon Snow, the Onion Knight, was staring at Tyrion was burning eyes.

"I wonder if you took my advice to heart then," Tyrion said, "The Watch was never meant for you."

"I was at the Watch," Jon responded.

Tyrion stopped and gave a slight smirk.

"It seems we've both risen up of stations then," Tyrion said. "Allow me to introduce Her Grace. Spare me the sighs, you know I have to say the titles. Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, First of Her Name, the Unburnt, Queen of the Bay of Dragon's, Right Queen of Westeros, and The Breaker of Chains," Tyrion finished.

"Your Grace," Jon said humbly, "An honor to finally meet you."

"Well met Jon Snow," Daenerys said, "I'm told you were a bastard before you took your crown." The kingdoms were obsessed with titles.

"I still am a bastard, Your Grace," Jon said. 

Daenerys raised her eyebrow in confusion, but paid little mind to his games. "Have you come to bend the knee, and forfeit your false crown?" she said firmly.

"Not exactly, Your Grace," Jon said. Of course he would delay the inevitable. "I am here to inform you of a greater threat, one all of us must face."

"And what is that?" Daenerys asked.

"The Others," Snow said seriously. 

Immediately Dany thought the man mad or a fool. All in Dany's party became tense. While the Unsullied guard around them remained unmoved.

Daenerys did not speak, but eyed the man seriously. He did not look to be a liar, but she had been fooled before.

"If you don't wish to forfeit your crown, what use do I have for you now?" Daenerys asked.

"None," Jon said, "I only wished you help us fight them. I knew you would not believe me; few of the Southerners did, except for King Stannis. But now the fate of the Kingdoms is in our hands, and we have bigger problems to deal with."

"Mayhaps we can speak of the details of this later," Tyrion stated, "We are all acquainted; we ought to show the new king to his and his party to their quarters."

Daenerys looked down at her Hand and accepted his request. She turned quickly and left Jon Snow on the beach. Soon she would explain the details of his surrender, and whatever he was thinking about the so-called Others.

 

It was during her following meeting with her Hand and Lord Varys did she change her mind.

"He commands thousands of Wildlings, Northmen and the Riverlands; I bet he could claim title as King of the Vale and Mountains," Tyrion stated. "And none one's brought the Wildlings to their knees. If he could command them and the Night's Watch, I daresay he would be the greatest commander in my memory."

"What are you saying, Lord Tyrion?" Daenerys asked, tired of hearing the accomplishments of a usurper's son. Missandei shifted uncomfortably.

"Well," Tyrion paused, "You have been looking for a suitable match."

"You'd marry me to Eddard's bastard," Dany said in an emotionless tone.

"I would say he's the most eligible bachelor in the Seven Kingdoms," Tyrion answered. 

"He believes there are monsters beyond the icy wall," Missandei chimed in.

"I recommend steering away from those who believe in such things. And I would mention that there are rumors that the man beds his youngest sister," Lord Varys said. 

Tyrion shrugged.

"The Northerners are a strange people. They believe in talking trees. But dragons fly over Dragonstone again," Tyrion explained, "it would not be strange if it was for this purpose. But tell me, Daenerys, if you could see the benefit of this union."

Daenerys knew Jon Snow was a capable man. Even as a bastard he could be made legitimate.

"I will see how he fairs," Dany answered and stood up, picking up her skirts and leaving.

As she walked through Dragonstone, she tried to feel at home. It was where she was born, yet she could not recognize it. She stopped once she reached a bridge overlooking the ocean. The skies were white and hazy, and the breeze blew strands of her hair out of their braids. Then she felt it. She felt her connection to this place.

* _Stormborn_.*

"Your Grace," a nearby guard yelled. He and another guard had Jon Snow between them. "The man wishes to speak to you."

"Let him come," Dany said, and Jon Snow walked to her, still wearing those black pelts.

"How do you fare? Being back?" he asked. Of course he knew of her birthplace. Everyone did.

"It's a strange thing," she answered honestly, "I never knew what Westeros would be like. I've only imagined."

"I'm sure you've seen many places on your own," Jon said.

"That I have," she responded. 

Jon looked to the sea, and leaned on the bridge. "You know I didn't ask to be king," he said. "The men forced the title on me. I never wanted it. Nor do I want it."

"So you would give up your crown?" Dany asked calmly.

"Would you?" Jon asked, "the North wishes nothing from southern kings, or queens. They would rebel at the mention of me kneeling."

The man would have to see the consequences of his actions.

"Would you like to see something?" she asked.

Jon looked confused and agreed. They walked down the steps onto the beach, and waited. Then suddenly Drogon appeared before her.

"Gods!" Jon yelled. And jumped back. It made Daenerys chuckle. The massive black dragon marched on the beach, breathing loudly.

She walked up to Drogon and touched her head. "This is Drogon," she said. "He is my child."

Jon looked terrified but kept quiet. He would come to understand.

"He helped me conquer three cities, and will burn anyone I command," Daenerys said calmly, threateningly, "Do you think your northern rebels would be any match for him?"

Daenerys smiled cleverly and saw Jon raise his hands in what looked like an act of submission. Then something odd happened. Drogon turned his head and breathed quietly. Jon walked up to Drogon slowly, quietly. The dragon looked to be in a daze and Daenerys was speecheless. Suddenly Jon touched Drogon's nose, and on his face was an expression of awe.

Immediately after Jon grabbed her waist and pulled her back.

"Are you mad woman?!" he yelled. And Drogon roared.

Jon used her to protect himself from the dragon. Knowing that Drogon would not attack its mother, Daenerys yelled for him to leave. Quickly the Unsullied pulled Jon from her and took him away, leaving Dany on the beach, shocked. 

"Take him to the Painted Table!" she commanded.

 

Never had any man tamed a dragon in front of her. Or even come close. The Martell boy burned and countless others with him. No, this Jon Snow was something special. He might have had Valyrian blood in him. Either way, she found her man.

Her blood pumping, her hands needy, she got walked the wilding stairs quickly. When Daenerys entered the room with the painted table she saw Jon Snow, his coat removed, looking at the great map.

"No man has ever done that" she said. "Drogon has always burned everyone to come near him."

"I-I didn't know what I was doing," Jon muttered, "I felt compelled."

"You felt power," she told him. She walked up to him, smiling. He was so much taller than her, and somehow more handsome than before. "You may keep your crown."

"What? Just like that," Jon asked.

"No, you must marry me," Daenerys said, to which Jon turned his head.

"That is out of the question," he said.

Daenerys smiled brightly. All men were weak to her charm. They could easily be caught off guard. She walked up to him and grabbed his hand, and placed it on her arse. "You know I'm used to men gawking at me."

Jon immediately removed his hand. And Daenerys jumped on the painted table. "You would do well as my husband. Our children would both be dragonlord. And you could take me, whenever you want." She put on her sexiest face.

"Your Grace," he said, "I must inform you that my heart belongs to someone else."

"Your sister?" Daenerys replied," Keep her as a paramour if you like. You could take us together."

At that, Jon left the room, leaving Dany embarrassed, hot, and fuming.

 

It took the entire night for her to come to a decision.

They were all having a meal, while their guests ate with them. Dany walked up to Jon, who looked afraid of her presence.

"I've decided to go North," she declared, "And see these things beyond the wall."

That made Jon calm. "And your dragonglass," he said.

"Tyrion informed me. It will go as well," she said and sat down. "First, I must apologize. I wasn't sure what came over me."

"It's nothing, Your Grace, not worth mentioning," he said.

"And I must go to Winterfell, see this sister of yours," she finished.

"Your Grace," Jon laughed, "Arya is the reason you shouldn't mention what happened."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This a purely Jon/Arya story. Don't worry. Sorry it's taken so long. Jon and Arya will be together next chapter. I'll fix spelling later. I'm exhausted.
> 
>  
> 
> I PLAN TO UPDATE WITHIN THE NEXT MONTH. I'LL TRY TO FINISH THE STORY.


	11. New chapter

 

As my first story, I found this heartbreaking to end. The thing is, I don't want to, like I do with many other stories. I am going to think of something eventually for this, but I leave open the possibility for letting this story be ended or adopted or co-written. This is my favorite fanbase/ship here and I've gotten the best responses here, so I won't simply end it. Just don't expect a satisfying conclusion to this.

Much love - Avery

_Parting is such sweet sorrow._


End file.
